


Play Me a Song, You're the Pianoman

by through_shadows_falling



Series: Supernatural Ficlets [48]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Fluff, M/M, Pianist Dean, Veteran Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-12 00:29:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5647330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was as he held the last note that he heard a scritching sound coming from his doorway. Dean scraped back his piano bench to investigate, and his heart dropped at the sight of a piece of paper on the ground.</p><p>A noise complaint, most likely.</p><p>He sighed and picked it up, but his eyes widened at the neat, careful cursive that read: A humble request to the pianist: Lieberstraum no. 3 in A flat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Me a Song, You're the Pianoman

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this tumblr post](http://actualmodel.tumblr.com/post/126244502008/one-of-my-neighbours-slipped-this-under-my-door).

Dean didn’t look like your average classical pianist.

No, with his beefy shoulders, plaid shirt, and ripped jeans, he looked more like the typical college guitar guy who played music no one wanted to hear.

In truth, Dean could play guitar, but that was mostly a hobby.

His true passion was the piano. You could say it ran in the family.

His grandparents on his mother’s side were both classical pianists. They’d met while auditioning for music school, and had fallen in love even while they competed for the coveted position of concert pianist with the school’s orchestra.

They’d overcome their rivalry (somewhat), and since getting together, they both had performed in countless concerts and composed at least a hundred pieces, from concertos to chamber music.

Their daughter Mary, Dean’s mother, followed in their footsteps and was a success in her own right, with a number of professional recordings. The Campbells truly made a name for themselves, and though Dean ended up as a Winchester through his mother’s marriage to his father, the Campbell genes were strong in him.

Dean’s father, John, loved when Mary played, but was less enthusiastic for his oldest son to take up the practice. He tried to push Dean toward strings, or brass, or something  _other_  than a piano.

But Dean couldn’t be swayed. How could he, after growing up mesmerized by his mother’s agile fingers as they flew over the keys in such beautiful patterns?

So Dean kept playing. 

And today, he wanted to practice. Thankfully, it was in the middle of the day when most of his apartment’s other tenants would (hopefully) be out and about and not bothered by the noise of a full piano. 

He did some quick warm-ups to stretch his fingers, and dove right in to [Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1 in B-flat Minor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7b3TNiPjQq4). It was a beautiful piece. He loved the dreamlike quality of Chopin, and it always reminded him of his mother playing him to sleep when he was a child.

From there, he was feeling sentimental, so he moved on to [La Fille aux Cheveux de Lin by Debussy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gy65UdvuHYk). He’d memorized it a long time ago, so he just closed his eyes and let it flow from his fingers. 

It was as he held the last note that he heard a scritching sound coming from his doorway. Dean scraped back his piano bench to investigate, and his heart dropped at the sight of a piece of paper on the ground.

A noise complaint, most likely.

He sighed and picked it up, but his eyes widened at the neat, careful cursive that read: _A humble request to the pianist:[Lieberstraum no. 3 in A flat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H4tfejFYHfM)._

Dean grinned. He definitely had that sheet music floating around somewhere. He dug through his pile and exclaimed when he found it. He threw open the windows so his neighbors would hear, and then took a seat. After poring over the notes quickly, he got in position and then began. 

It had a slightly faster tempo than the first two pieces he’d played, but it was equally beautiful. In fact, Dean got so absorbed that he lost himself, and all that mattered was the melody and his fingers moving over the keys. It was one of his favorite parts of playing, how he could sink into the notes and the rhythms and let them carry him away from his body. He’d always return feeling changed, satisfied to his very core. 

When he finished, it was to loud clapping from outside his window. Joy tingled through him. 

Dean hurried to his balcony and poked his head out.

“Any more requests?” he asked.

A few stories up, a man’s head appeared over the railing of his balcony. He had brown hair, and Dean recognized him from passing in the lobby a few times. He’d noticed the man because he was missing a left arm, most likely due to military service, since he’d also held himself stiffly.

“Do you know any Rachmaninoff?” the man asked. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a few,” Dean said.

A woman joined the man, and her long red hair fanned her face as she leaned over the railing. 

“But he’s so dreary! My brother could use some livening up. Do you have anything more upbeat?”

“How about Mozart’s Turkish March?”

“Oh, no Mozart please,” the man said. “He’s far too overplayed.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Dean said. “I’ll be right back.” He returned to his piano and pulled out a small piece by Kabalevsky, his [Op. 27 no. 18 Sonatina](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEADPJoxVmA). It was short and snappy, and actually, Sonatinas were a good choice. He moved right from that to [Kuhlau’s Sonatina Op.55 No.3](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6a03F8fuivo), which he knew from experience was fun to listen to. 

More clapping resounded once he’d finished. Dean headed back out to the balcony. 

“That was lovely,” the woman said. “I’ve not heard those pieces before.”

“I liked that second one very much,” the man said. 

“Glad I could be of service,” Dean said with a mock bow. “By the way, if this isn’t weird, you’re welcome to stop by for an in-person concert.”

The woman glanced at her brother. “That’d be nice, right, Cas? Get out of the apartment for a little while?”

“Anna, please. You don’t need to babysit me.”

“I know, I know. What do you think?” 

They devolved into whispers and then Anna called down, “We’ll be right there! Or at least my brother will. I have to go to a meeting.”

“Great!” Dean said. “I’m in apartment 4C.”

Once they’d disappeared from the balcony, Dean hurried inside. Nice time for an impromptu invitation, since his place was a mess. He hastily cleared some garbage and tried to straighten up, but there was no hiding how much of a music nerd he was, not with all the stray sheet music hogging every available surface, not to mention his own attempts at composition. 

His doorbell sounded, and Dean went to admit Cas, who was far more handsome than Dean remembered. Cas had a stubbled jaw, high cheekbones, and blue, blue eyes. He wore jeans and a button-down shirt, which hung loosely where his left arm was supposed to be.

“Uh, hey, I’m Dean,” Dean greeted, and they shook hands. He peered past Cas into the hallway. “Your sister already abandon you?”

“Yes, finally,” Cas said as he stepped inside. “I’m Castiel, by the way. And you play beautifully. You remind me of my favorite pianist, actually. Have you heard of Mary Campbell?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. She’s my mom.”

“No way,” Castiel said, his mouth forming an awe-filled ‘o.’ “No wonder you’re so talented.”

“Do you play?” Dean asked to cover his blush, and he mentally cringed, considering Castiel’s lack of two arms. 

“I used to,” Castiel said. He gave a one-sided shrug. “It’s a bit more challenging now, so I prefer listening. I was never that good, anyways. Not like you.”

They chatted some more as Dean led Castiel to his kitchen, where he offered him something to drink. 

“So. Rachmaninoff,” Dean said. “Any particular one you want?”

“Any of his preludes,” Castiel said, as he sipped delicately at his glass of water. 

Dean dragged a kitchen chair into the living room area, where his piano took up most of the left side.

“There. Front row seat.”

“I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Dean sat, suddenly nervous now that he had an audience so nearby. “Don’t laugh at me if I mess up,” he said.

“Never.”

Dean smiled at Castiel. He didn’t know his life story, but he already really liked the guy. 

“Alright, then be prepared to be amazed.”

Dean played for Castiel for an hour, and Castiel did nothing more than close his eyes. He didn’t even fidget, and just seemed to bask in Dean’s music.

So Dean did the only thing he could think of.

He made his impromptu invitation a standing one, so Castiel could drop by whenever to hear Dean play. 

They exchanged numbers to make it easier, and Dean let him know what concerts he should go to, or what CDs he should buy. He gave him a free pass to his mother’s next performance, and then amazed him when he brought Castiel backstage to meet his idol.

And from then on, he and Castiel were inseparable. Music was the thread that linked them, and though it wove through joy and heartbreak, it never left them.

**Author's Note:**

> I admit, I had to Google famous classical piano pieces to include in this. I hope it was believable enough! The pieces are certainly beautiful, so I hope you were able to listen to them! :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just Now Got the Feeling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6122364) by [chucks_prophet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet)




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